Surviving Christmas!
by Bond.Jane
Summary: A tongue in cheek Bones version of Dickens' Christmas Carol. Final Chapter now up!
1. All I want for Christmas is an Egyptian

Chapter 1- All I want for Christmas is an Egyptian Mummy

_December 23rd, 5pm_

"Bones, come on..."

"No"

"Then do it as favor to me"

"Booth, I told you before: I don't want to, I don't feel like it and I don't see the point! Just give it a rest!"

"Now you're just being mean!"

"Booth, we've been partners for what? Four years now? When have you seen me celebrate Christmas? Alone or otherwise? The only reason I'm not going to China this year is because I was promised an Egyptian mummy that can, quite possibly, be the remainings of Ramses II's first daughter. It's a great honor to be chosen to participate in the identification of the remainings, otherwise, I can tell you right now, I'd be, by now, landing in Beijing."

"Be that as it may, Bones, you'll be here, in DC, alone. No one works Christmas Eve past 5 pm. No one except you, that is. You celebrated Christmas last year with your dad and Russ. And I'm not going to have Parker this year AGAIN so, as a friend, you could, at least, oh... I don't know... be a FRIEND and keep me company... but no, Ms Bones is TOO CONCERNED with herself and an Egyptian mummy that has been dead for a couple million years to help a friend! NICE TO SEE I CAN COUNT ON YOU!"

"Three thousand years, Booth, not a _couple million_"

He surprised himself that he managed not to bite her head off. That woman was the most infuriating specimen of the female kind he had ever met. And he had met his fair share. More than that actually, if you counted Rebecca who, in her own right was worth 10 just for all the trouble she had caused him just to get to see Parker. And yet, she didn't even come close to Bones. The woman had a knack for getting him shot, getting him to shoot people or, at least threaten to, had very often succeeded in making him feel inadequate, insufficient, clumsy and dumb and now, to add insult to injury, clingy and needy. He got up from the sofa and paced her office. He felt three years old again, stomping his feet, sullenly, in the dishearteningly carpeted floor. His hands hitched to wring her pretty little neck into a knot.

"You know what pisses me off the most? It's that if I were a deep sea diver with only half a working brain that had asked you to keep him company, you wouldn't think twice. You are more available for a lover than for me."

"Well, now you're just being petty, Booth. It's not often that I come across someone who can satisfy my biological needs. As a mammal, I'm sure you feel them too, so you know what I'm talking about, but"

"Cut the crap, Bones. You and your crackpot theories about biological urges... I've heard them all. AND IT'S NOT THE DAMNED POINT!"

He'd been shouting. He realized it when his brain finally decided to employ a few brain cells in making him stop before he could say something he might just live to regret. When he came short of what, in fact, the point was, he saw himself, towering over her, his face angry and dangerous, intimidatingly close to hers. Objectively, he was a bully. He saw it in the reflection on the glass cabinet and he didn't like it. He would have kicked his own ass if only it were feasible. It surprised him that he did not see fear looking back at him. How could she trust him so blindly knowing what he could do when he lost control over his emotions? Maybe, and the thought made him smile, she trusted she could deck him anytime she wanted.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to rewind that scene and do it better, without losing it. Hell, he wanted to grab hold of her and just push her against a wall and kiss the life out of her, make her see him standing there, loving her better than anyone had ever done. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, his black suit jacket looking slightly empty, his stance slightly sad. The apology did not come. There was no way it could have passed the knot in his throat. Which made him mad at himself. Which made him gesture in anger at himself. Which she did not understand. Which, in turn and finally, made her get mad. And Temperance Brennan usually wanted to punch people to a bloody pulp when she got mad. She did not dare punch Booth, though she was damned sure she could flatten him anytime she wanted to. It's just that he was her best friend- despite that rank not carrying verbal acknowledgment. He was Booth and there was... _respect,_ to put it mildly, to be observed. Booth was Booth, and though he every so often drove her to wanting to pull her hair out strand by strand with frustration, he was also the best man- the best person- she had ever met. But she'd be damned if he was going to black mail her or bully her into spending Christmas anywhere else but where she wanted to be- alone in _her _lab and ignoring that it was Christmas. Even if she had to push him back, bully him back out of her personal space and personal misery over the season. Attack was always the best defense. So she got up, slowly, almost pressed her nose to his, raising slightly on her toes and spoke, softly, but with deadly accuracy:  
"Well, Booth, I'm not a little project for you, your good deed of the season and I'm, most certainly not a distraction for you, yet again, not having you boy with you. I'm afraid you'll just have to survive Christmas on your own." and she walked out of her office still buttoning her lab coat over a heart that felt colder at that moment than it had ever felt in her whole life, stamping down the guilt that she refused to acknowledge.

Alone in her office, Booth slid down to her chair, his heart broken in millions of little pieces. He allowed himself a minute of self pity. No Parker, no Bones, no one. Bones mad at him, him mad at himself, mad at the world. He needed a beer, probably, something stronger. Self pity time over, he marched out of her office, past the platform without saying goodbye and noticing bitterly that she was already engrossed in the analysis of the ugly, dried prune of a mummy occupying the central table. If only he were a three thousand year old corpse, he could get her to pay attention to him.

Time flies by when you were having fun. Brennan had managed to stamp down on the guilt her brush off of Booth had left her with. But concentration did not come to her easy on that particular afternoon. Maybe it was the headache she'd been trying to ignore since the altercation, or maybe the pain in her neck. Maybe even the throbbing vein in her forehead. She was not a great fan of medication. She rarely had any. But today there was no Booth to pull her for a breath of fresh air or for that quick delicious rub at the base of her neck when she felt tired but did not want to give up. So she removed her latex gloves and walked to her office to try to find some tylenol. And then she'd be good for a few more hours.

The next thing she knew, she was sitting at her desk, the pain in her neck and head was now the mother of all aches and the lab was completely dark and silent.

And then she saw her: Miss Piggy, blond and with excessive make up, sitting in her sofa, in her office, looking at her, tapping her gloved chubby fingers in an impatient gesture.

"Well, finally! I though I was going to have to wait until tomorrow for you to awake up! That is _soooooooo rude!" _Brennan rubbed her eyes vigorously into a smear of mascara and make up. It had to be the tylenol. It just had to be. Why else would a Muppet be sitting in her office and talking to her? And yet, no matter how vigorously she rubbed, her improbable visitor was still there, talking to her in that snotty little tone and, what was worse, looking more and more miffed by the second.

"I don't get it! Why are you here? Why am I dreaming of you?"  
"Well, aren't you ungrateful? There I was, minding my own bees wax, taking care of my Kermy and I get _brutally_ interrupted. How _rude!_ Well, might as well get this over with! I'm here to tell you that you will get three _very important_ visitors tonight. So go home, get yourself ready." And in so saying, Miss Piggy picked up her purse and walked out of the office, angrily nodding and murmuring something about rude interruptions on her family time- and, especially, on the run up to Christmas.


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

2- The Ghost of Christmas Past

_December 24th, 1am_

It had to be some allergic reaction to tylenol. Though she had never experienced anything like that. But she was not drunk, there had been no contamination of the lab and Miss Piggy had certainly been sitting there, talking to her, leaving behind a waft of flowery perfume. The clock at the bottom corner of the computer screen told her it was past midnight, her head and neck were throbbing painfully and not even the thought of the probability of examining Ramses II's first daughter's mummy consoled her. Miserably, she removed her lab coat and thought about stopping by Wong Foo's and grabbing some food before stopping by Booth's for a late dinner. The thought was on its way to make her feel better when she realized that she was mad at him and, given the way she had seen him, from the corner of her eye, storm out of the lab, he too was pretty worked up about their little fight. A sigh escaped her. She put on her her thick coat and headed home, the emptiness of it looming over her.

As soon as she walked into the apartment, the sound of it's usual silence crashed on her like a tone of bricks. She headed to the sound system and debated over the choices. She really wanted something silly and inconsequential, but, and because she was taking herself too seriously that night, she popped in some Tibetan Throat Singers. She remembered Booth making fun of that particular choice, so, more out defiance than gusto, she hit PLAY.

If only Sweets weren't so annoying, she would ask him to explain why Miss Piggy had just visited her in the lab. She had her own theory, obviously. She was tired and the tylenol was probably past its sell by date. She walked through the house trying to relax. It wasn't like she was going to see _her _again, she was wide awake now. There were no dark corners. She made sure of that, though she wouldn't necessarily admit to it. It wasn't like Miss Piggy was scary in herself. What was scary was the fact that she was seeing her _outside _a TV screen.

It took her a very long shower to feel more confident about walking from one room to the other without a cursory glance just to make sure.

She hunted down some food and found some rice crackers. She really needed to get herself to the market, she made a mental note and decided against going to bed. Her eyes were stinging and angry red from the day's aggravations, but her bed was cold and unwelcoming... lonely, really. So she switched on the TV- a brand new thing she had bought just for when Booth stopped by and there was game or other on.

The next thing she knew, Smurffette was pulling her hair and screeching _hurry, wake up, don't have all __night, you know? _She was a grown woman, she did not shy away from holding dead bodies in her hands, in her arms if needs be. But the sight of the little blue dwarf like fingers made Brennan jump out of her skin. She wanted to wake up, desperately, and she tried everything in her power: she pinched and scratched herself, took deep breaths of air, had a sip of her long forgotten and past cold tea, but Smurffette was still there, her blond mane of hair billowing in some imaginary wind, her little white booted foot stamping impatiently on the oak floor.

"You are awake enough for what we need. Now just please follow me. It's getting late. It's getting very late and you still need to entertain two more visitors tonight." Instinctively, Brennan curled up in her sofa. She needed rescue. And that was annoying as hell as she never needed any rescuing. But right there and then, she only wanted to call Booth, get him to beat the crap out of Smurffette who was giving her an exasperated look.

"It's Christmas, you know. I had to leave all the preparations for the feast! I will be _very upset_ with you if I'm my stew burns, do you understand?" Oh, it was like being three years old again and fear the monster under her bed. Except now she was quite certain that Smurffette would not hesitate in punishing her. So, she followed the little blue white-clad figure into her walk in closet. They walked past the casual weekend clothes, smart dark work suits with Smurffette tututing at the hanging pieces. The blue girl finally relaxed by the time they got to the party dresses, smoothing the fine materials with her little blue fingers:  
"These are actually not bad, you know? Nice materials, nice designs..."

"Oh, glad I have your approval..." was the sarcastic reply.

"Are you sassing me, little one?"

"Little one? Are you joking? You're joking right?" Brennan looked at the little blue girl that reached, at the most, her knees, trying to illustrate her point. Smurffette did not seem to notice.

"I don't like your attitude! Just because you have nice dresses it doesn't mean you get to be sarcastic. Or mean. In fact, I think Miss Piggy was right and you are _quite rude_. And all these lovely dresses...." The tirade against her manners went on for a while. Brennan was starting to think that Booth as quite right about Smurffette being a little annoying thing, with hardly any brains. Smurffette took offense at that particular thought though Brennan had not dared to utter it.

"Oh, so you think you're so smart, do you? Then how come you need me here, huh? How come you need us to come and help you?" Brennan was preparing to interrupt yet another tirade which really upset the Smurf. The little blue girl raised her blue, white booted foot, swung and hit Brennan squarely in the shin. It did hurt. For a dream, it did hurt a lot. Maybe she should look out for a flock of birds circling her head. And, Brennan was sure, it would leave quite a bruise. And it smarted as hell, too. Shocked, Brennan followed Smurffette who had moved on, getting past the final stretch of the wardrobe, a section devoted to all the bad purchase choices, some of them her own responsibility, others, totally Angela's fault.

They walked into a warm living room, the lights of a Christmas tree lighting blue, red, green and yellow hues into the otherwise dark space. There were Christmas presents lovingly wrapped under the tree, a plate of cookies and a glass of milk on the mantle piece. It looked straight out of a children's book. It felt lived in, warm, reassuring and incredibly familiar. And then she spotted the little girl hiding behind an armchair. She couldn't be more than three years old, wrapped in a an old comfort blanket, barefoot and with vivid blue eyes. She wanted to reach around the chair and look closer at the child but though she walked, she did did not manage to get to the little girl. There was no barrier there, at least physical, but she just couldn't get there. It startled her when a man came down the stairs, blond, blue eyes, a jovial smile in his handsome face, clearly trying not to make any noise. He moved into the room and smirking, had a bite of the cookie and drank half the milk. The little girl moved from behind the chair and stood behind the man, hands propped at her waist, stomping her foot in disapproval at the man's antics. When he turned around, he saw her there and was momentarily stumped for a way out, having been caught in the act. The man smiled at the girl, trying to appease her.

"I'm sorry, baby girl, daddy had Santa's cookies..." and he tried to hold her in his arms. She skidded away, tears in her eyes.

"There is no Santa Claus! You are just pretending. I saw you put the presents and I saw you eating the cookies! There is no Santa Claus!" And the tears now flowed freely.

"Tempe, you're too smart for your own good, honey!" He held the girl and hugged her to him, soothing her mane of tousled auburn hair. "There is no Santa, you're right. But daddy really loves you..."

"But you lied..." He was a grown man, but no reply came.

Smurffette was busy looking at a grown Brennan with glistening eyes.

"Shame you getting to that conclusion so early. You were what? Three?" There was understanding in the Smurff's eyes, but there was something else. There was probing. Brennan turned her eyes back to the scene where the father was still trying to console his daughter only to be pushed away by the little hands. She child ran upstairs and the man was left staring at the Christmas tree, the smile gone from his eyes.

"Well, better that than believing a myth. Myths are just anthropological ways to instigate certain acceptable behaviors in the individual and..."

"Oh, shut up! Were you less than good after this? You weren't! And you lost faith here, faith in something beyond yourself. It must be very lonely being you!" Brennan sulked. What else could she do, anyway? The Smurff refused to leave her alone, she did not manage to wake up, so she just sulked. Didn't do her any good either, because Smurffette just pressed on.

"Well, come on, then! Do you think I have all day? Still lots to see..."

"WHY?"

"Oh, you're smart. You'll figure that out... eventually. I just hope it's sooner, rather than later..." Brennan concentrated on the look in Smurffette's eyes. For a cartoon, she was very expressive. She wondered briefly what would Sweets make of her little night time adventure. Not that she'd tell him. In fact, she wasn't even sure she'd tell herself... she might just think that self commitment was in order. No, she thought, once the dream was over, she would forget about it. She'd make a point of it. She was very good at compartmentalizing after all. And when she looked around, it was like sitting at the window of a high speed train, looking at the landscape: she looked to the right and there were brief flashes of her mother holding a plate of cookies, of Christmas dinners, of Russ opening a present, of the family dog scoffing down the chocolate decorations on the Christmas tree, of the complicity looks exchanged between her mother and father, kissing under the mistletoe. As the flashes slowed down, always out of reach, she saw herself curled up on the sofa, watching "It's a wonderful life" with her father. She remembered watching that film every year on Christmas day, a huge bowl of pop corn sitting between them. It was their own special moment, their own little ritual.

It was strange looking to her left and not recognizing the scene: the living room was unfamiliar, the man yelling, tall, menacing, towering over two boys, one of them standing as a shield in front of the smaller one. There was a woman on the floor, crying, helpless. And again, she could reach none of them. It was like watching a silent movie, she could see the faces, she could see the crying and the yelling, but she couldn't hear any sound. But she could see the older boy's eyes, the defiance and sorrow mixed in them, the Christmas tree at a corner, twinkling incongruently cheery tones in the background against the ugly scene going on center stage. She could see the hand of the man raising in anger to strike the boy with the brown eyes, lowering in slow motion to hit the boy in its violence. She rushed forward. She needed to stop it, stand between them but when she moved, the scene was gone and there was only an empty old kitchen, cold and dark and her 16 year old self sitting at the table, holding a pen-knife to write at the bottom of her shoe yet one more name. Watson. It spelt one more failure, it broke one more piece of her heart. The social worked walked into the room, clearly displeased at having to work on Christmas Eve. The brisk movements towards the teenager told of impatience, and that old "couldn't care less" young Temperance had seen too many times in the last year. It was her fault, she knew. She had wanted to go back home. It had been a year to the day since her parents had been missing and she'd hoped they might have gone back, looking for her.

Her foster parents hadn't been pleased. They were never pleased, it appeared. They made her pack her belongings while they called the social worker. Once again her clothes would smell like the plastic of the garbage bags foster children were given to pack, there would be a new school, even if no new friends, and new house to learn the rules of. What there wouldn't be was her family. Or warmth. Her heart had frozen over, refusing to beat for fear of the pain. And there wouldn't be any tears. Her first foster family had made sure of that.

When the social worker had dragged young Temperance into the car and the "family" had seen them off with relief, the kitchen was, once more, silent, dark and empty. Smurffette sat on the kitchen table, studying her manicure and waiting for Brennan. She waited for the incipient tears to dry, for the knot on Brennan's throat to dissolve.

"You know, little one, they didn't make you. What you are- what you and him are- you are _despite _them."

"I'm sorry, Smurffette, can we go home, now?" She fully expected the blue girl to throw a tantrum. But instead, there was nod of agreement. Smurffette nodded and her blond hair billowed once more in some imaginary wind.

"My thoughts exactly. I think we're done here."


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present

3- The ghost of Christmas present

_December 24th, 3am_

The moving light of the TV set woke her up gently. The cold she had felt in that kitchen so many years ago was still in her bones, in her heart. It had never left her. Her hands were painfully cold. She got up scolding herself for not switching on the heating, but when she got to the heater, it was hot. She ran her hands through her face and hair, trying to get her bearings. It was turning up to be, all in all, a rather unpleasant evening. She headed to the kitchen to prepare a warm tea, something that might chase away the cold she didn't seem able to shake off. That and the memory of a Smurff leading her through a nightmare. As the kettle boiled, she poured it over a tea bag, her distracted hands dipping it repeatedly to release the flavor she did not crave. Thinking the better of it, she opened the fridge and reached for a bottle of scotch. She would need something stronger than tea to warm her up, to sooth the bad taste in her mouth left there by the dream. She poured a generous amount in her tea cup, caped the bottle and put in in the fridge, her absent hands doing all the actions for her until, when trying to close the fridge, she felt resistance against the door. Snapping out of her trance, she realized it was more than resistance, it was something actively pushing the door open in increments of strength. Her instincts told her to just force the door closed and run the hell out of there. And yet, her feet did not obey her, she was rooted to that same spot in her dimly lit kitchen and a rather huge white rabbit clad in the uniform of the Queen of Hearts and definitely standing upright- walked out holding a pocket watch in his white furry hand.

"Oh!" It wasn't quite an exclamation. It was more of a sigh. Brennan looked at the White Rabbit straight from the illustration of her old book of Alice in Wonderland, standing tall in her kitchen and then at the cup of tea in her hand laced with whiskey and was grateful briefly for having not yet had a single sip of it. This way she could be sure she wasn't drunk, not even tipsy. She took a long sip at the tea. _Here we go again! _She hoped, looking at his two front teeth, that the White Rabbit did not turn out to have violent tendencies. The damage could be huge and she bruised like a peach. She recoiled when the overgrown rabbit reached out for her. But, as it turned out, the only thing he wanted to grab was her cup. He took it in his hand, sniffed the contents, inspired deeply and drank the contents in one single motion with a satisfied _aaaahhhhh _at the end.

"She's driving me mad!" He said, the English posh totty accent a stark reminder of David Attemborough's melodic, nature documentary cadence and tone. Except for the little edge of frayed nerves.

"The Queen of Hearts?"

"No, the Queen of Swords!" Sarcasm. "Of course the Queen of Hearts, you silly girl! I was told you were quite the smart one, but so far you have only stated the obvious, little one!" He looked at the pocket watch tightly gripped in his hand and shrieked. "It's late. It's so late! Come along now, we have not a moment to loose" and he opened the refrigerator door and walked in. As she made no movement, to follow, he turned and gave her an annoyed look.

"I haven't got all day. Move along, move along." Brennan considered and measured. She had a remarkably large fridge. Mostly because Booth had persuaded her to buy one of those double doored ones after hers had blown up along with some of his ribs and shoulder when the Cugini family had put a hit on her. Still, large as it might be, she doubted she would fit in it and, more so, if she really wanted to walk into one, being that she was still chilled from her previous experience with Smurffette. The White Rabbit did not give her time to ponder and with a growl, pulled her in. She looked backwards only to see the door closing behind her with a sense of dread.

The furry bunny was walking ahead of her, making disapproval noises as they walked past the contents of her fridge: a bottle of fizzy water, a box of rice crackers and a bottle of scotch.

"I wonder why anyone would want such a big fridge if there's nothing inside it. Where are the makings for Christmas Lunch? This does not make any sense..." And Brennan found herself inclined to agree. Not necessarily about the makings of Christmas lunch but about the size of the fridge in proportion to what was stored inside it. The shelves were depressingly empty as she walked past them. And in any case, if she remembered the story correctly, she'd be better off not eating anything, lest she'd suddenly face a growth spurt or a shrinking episode.

And then it happened: one moment she was looking at the box of rice crackers, intrigued as to why she'd have put it in the fridge and the next she was staring directly at Sid's black eyes who, shockingly, was starring right back at her.

"Hi, Sid" She started, quite unsure on how to explain her sudden appearance. But Sid did not reply. In fact, he seemed to be concentrating on something _behind_ her rather than _on_ her. The White Rabbit pulled her aside with a jerk to her hand and, once she got over the shock of her sudden materialization at Wong Foo's and the rabbit's brisk manners, she turned to look at what Sid was staring at so intently.

Her heart jolted when she saw Booth sitting at the counter, alone as he used to sit hen they first became partners. They usually sat there together, sharing thoughts and theories over warm food. But today Booth was nursing a dangerously small glass full of a suspiciously colorless liquid being poured from a bottle worryingly left by his side. She approached him even suspecting he could not see her. She took one sniff at his breath and was not surprised to feel the smell of vodka. His eyes were hard and his lips pressed into a tight line Brennan had come to understand as dangerous.

The Rabbit took a sit at a far table and remained silent but studious of the scene. Brennan sat on the stool closest to Booth and remained silent. She knew he wouldn't be able to hear her, so she just sat there and waited. She wasn't entirely sure what she was waiting for but was quite certain that she could not go anywhere until the overgrown bunny decided to make a move so she just sat there. She heard Sid's sigh.

The man moved towards Booth and started cleaning imaginary dust from the counter.

"Are you gonna tell me about it now or are you going to drink my whole stock?" Booth must have answered, but the grunt was hardly comprehensible. Sid, however, either by virtue of too many years in the trade or because he knew Booth all too well, understood the reply.

"Parker _and _your partner? Man, I'll drink to you!" And he pulled a glass and helped himself from the bottle Booth had been holding on to, peeling the label with minutia. Booth grunted something else. Again Sid filled in the blanks.

"Of course they drive you insane. They're women!" This time, Booth snorted something that sounded to Brennan something like_ understatement, _though she couldn't quite be sure. The White Rabbit however, seemed to agree as he nodded furiously at Booth's comment. He was still looking at his pocket watch but had stopped mumbling his refrain _so late, I'm going to be so incredibly late. _Now he was just mumbling about being _driven insane by people, most especially of the female kind_. He was still nodding, his huge furry hears accentuating his disapproval. He snapped his fingers in the air and, out of nowhere, Betty Boop, in pasty black and white, appeared carrying a tray with a very real cocktail glass propped on it. Brennan was momentarily distracted. Since when had she been loosing the plot to consider that a cocktail glass perched on Betty Boop's tray was more real than the cartoon carrying it? She had started to suspect that the tylenol could not solely explain the course of events of the night, but she was not yet prepared to admit that she might need therapy. Though the thought briefly crossed her mind. She shook her head, and concentrated on Booth. At least, outside the dream scenario, he was real.

"So", Booth continued, "I ask her to keep me company over Christmas. I figured, if we're having dinner somewhere, you know, talking a bit, sharing a beer or something, I won't be thinking of Parker in freakin' Canada... You know, share the load..." Sid made an assent noise with his throat and ran his hand through his beard.

"It's not just Parker you think about Christmas Eve, though..." Sid withered down the nasty look Booth spared him. "There's also the little matter of all those Christmas not so white..." Booth's jaw was clenching tightly, the line of lips becoming increasingly thin.

"Sid" It was a growl like sound, almost a snarl.

"I mean, with your old man and being who he is, I can't imagine too many of those..."  
"Sid" The growl was becoming dangerously soft.

"And correct me if I wrong but not so many Christmases ago, weren't you in some dungeon in the desert with..." Sid did not get to complete the sentence. Booth stood up, the growl gone, just the ominous silence of a wild animal ready to attack. Sid leaned forward into the challenge. "Sit down, Booth. It's me you're talking to. Been there, done it, have the freaking T Shirt to prove it... Look..." Sid rubbed the weariness almost completely from his face. Booth men backed down.

"It wouldn't hurt her either, would it, that she wouldn't be alone for Christmas..." It was an olive branch. He looked at Booth from under his semi closed lashes, probing how far he could go. Brennan had seen Booth's shoulders relax just a fraction. "I though her family was back." Sid ploughed on.

"They are, but she's not easy forgiving type, Bones. I don't blame her, mind you, if she doesn't want her dad around for Christmas. But she prefers to sit around with a _three thousand year old _corpse than with me."

"Alone..."

"Yeah... alone" Brennan did not like being pitied. She hated it just as much as she hated needing somebody. That had been the whole point of her flat refuse in spending Christmas with Booth. She'd thought she knew he was doing it out of pity, out of concern for her.

"You know, my friend, she's a smart lady. She saw through you, through your trying to protect her as always..."

"But that's not all I was trying to do..."

"No, I suppose not.." Booth sighed deeply.

"I miss my boy, Sid. Every day I don't see him, I miss him and I know I lost yet one more day of his life. And I know I can't do a damned thing about it. And I've learned how to leave with it. But man" and he downed one more shot of vodka, "it's Christmas, for cryin' out loud.. do you know how many Christmas Eves I spent with my boy? One! One!" Booth showed his index finger, illustrating his point. "And he's seven, man!" There was a stubborn tear at the corner of his eye that Booth refused to allow to fall. "When he grows up, he's never going to associate Christmas with me. He's going to count how many boyfriends Rebecca spent Christmas Eve with. He won't have good memories of us on Christmas Eve, of dad sneaking around trying to make Santa real for him."

Brennan wanted to touch Booth, she wanted to sooth the rawness she saw in him. She knew he missed Parker, but, she realized, just because he didn't go around moping over it, it had been easy for her to forget that he was not the tower of strength he always seemed to be. She had thought he had, as always, been trying to help her, to do something for her disguised as something for him. When had she become so blind she couldn't see the ghosts and the sorrow behind the warm smile that he save just for her, so proud that she could not accept help from him, from the one person she trusted more than herself? When had she become so heartless that she couldn't see that he _did_ need her?

She reached her hand to touch him, but her skin could not feel his warmth. And he could not sense her, standing there. She touched his face and traced the contours with her light fingers. She had never dared doing it, but this was a dream. Might as well indulge for a few minutes. There would be no consequences if she touched him now, no questions, no embarrassments.

"She's my best friend... she should have seen that." Her hand recoiled, stung by the bitterness of the last words. It was one thing to think it, but to hear it from him made it unbearable. She felt mean and selfish. She had tried hard to justify to herself that she'd just been trying to protect her heart and abide by Booth's line. And she had failed not only the man she loved, but her best friend.

She stood up and walked to the White Rabbit's table. He understood her request to walk out. Her eyes were red with the tears she refused to cry and her throat felt tied into a knot. They walked back through the empty fridge. The rabbit seemed busy observing his own furry hands. He held her hand while he walked her to the door and pushed it open for her to walk out, told her:

"It occurred to me that this superb fridge is much like your heart: it's quite big and nice, there's plenty of room, but it's empty. What good is a fridge if it does not contain food, don't you think?" And without giving her time to think of a reply, helped her out of the fridge and the door closed of it's own accord.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come

4- The Ghost of Christmas yet to come

_December 24th, 5am_

It wasn't really like waking up, because it hadn't been really like dreaming. It had all been so vivid, so utterly real. And yet, it surprised her when she found herself curled up in her sofa, the TV still on on some shopping network. She was tired and irritable, her throat was sore and she felt terrible about what she'd heard from Booth. She felt shame which was something she hadn't felt for a very long time. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep any more because her brain was in overdrive. Booth had told her to switch off her brain and put the heart in overdrive. She knew she hadn't really tried that. She knew she'd been too scared to do it. It scared her because it made her vulnerable. She had been so worried about that nervous flutter in her stomach every time he so much as called, so worried about the possibility that he might reciprocate in some way that indefinable emotion, that she had done everything to keep her distance. She did not want to get close just in case he might want the same, and then, if he did, just in case he might change his mind or regret or feel obligated or, or, or... her brain was in overdrive. It had multiplied the catastrophic scenarios ad nausea.

She tossed and turned on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. To no avail. She wanted to call it a night, get up and start her day but it was still dark outside, there was ice in the air and she felt like she had been hit by a train. While she debated whether to stay or go, there as a noise, someone clearing their throat. She looked around but did not immediately see anyone. Her heart jolted. She fully expected to see, the way her night was going, Buggs Bunny or some other animated character. If she was really unlucky, the Wicked Witch of the West. Or Elmer Fudd.

"Excuse me, Miss!" Brennan closed her eyes resolutely. No, she wanted no more. She was too tired.

"Go away! Whoever you are, go away."

"Well, I'm kind of stuck, you see... I haven't really done this before... Apparently, I need practice." Brennan looked around.

"I can't see you..."

"Just because you can't see me, doesn't mean I'm not here... Oh, very well," the manly voice sounded despondent. "Let me try again!" She heard some movement, a shifting of sorts, something that sounded like a grunting and fingers snapping. Then, with a whoosh, a 30 something year old, black and white James Stewart appeared sitting, legs dangling, sitting on top of the bookshelf to her right, smack between her art books and a shelf loaded with African artifacts. He gave her his trademark crooked smile. She couldn't help but smile back at him. At least it was not Elmer Fudd.

"You look straight out of 'It's a wonderful life'..."

"Well, there are several explanations for that: the rational, the magical, the sentimental and most certainly, the true one. But I don't really think it's important, do you?" Brennan nodded. Suddenly, her breath had hitched and her throat tightened impossibly. James Stewart hoped off his perch and walked to sit on the sofa next to where she was curling up. "I know you had a difficult night. Do you know the night is always darker before the sun rises?" He patted her hand companionably, which was weird because it felt like a pat from a grandfather when, in fact, the man standing before her- black and white though he might be, was still... wow, as Angela would put it. He smiled at her unuttered thought. "You are a very good looking girl yourself!" She smiled. She couldn't help but to.

"Are you going to take me to see something? You are, aren't you?" He nodded in assent, the easy smile a reassurance. "Well, I've traveled through my wardrobe, my fridge... I'm not entirely sure what's left as a portal, Mr Stewart..."

"Just call me Jimmy. I'll call you Temperance. Let's shake on it." And he held his large hand for her to touch. She wasn't really hoping for a tangible hand. She was hoping for her hand to go right through his. It did not. It was a very solid hand and a strong grip. Much like Booth's. "And now we're friends. Now, we have things to do, places to get to and people to see. Are you ready, Temperance?"

"No", but she sighed a smile, knowing it was going to happen whether she was ready and willing or kicking and screaming.

He scooted over in her sofa, held her hand and told to close her eyes.

"Just remember, whatever happens, that we make our own choices. And that you're not alone. You never were." She was going to argue. She was going to remind him of the years in foster care, of the years after she'd escaped that into dingy, old, lonely rooms , but he patted her hand once again.

"I know, I know. But you were never alone. And you've earned tonight." She wasn't entirely sure how that was about_ earning_ as much as it was _deserving_ in the the punishment sense, but this was Jimmy Stewart and his eyes inspired trust.

"Close your eyes, Temperance"

***********

It wasn't like the two previous times. It was... serene. When she opened her eyes, tentatively at first, she was sitting in her office at the Jeffersonian. Nothing seemed to have changed much from what it was the previous night. She had a sudden outbreak of hope that she'd been dreaming the whole time, since she first saw Miss Piggy sitting in that very same sofa. But there were little details that were off. There was that massive pile of files on the pending tray that hadn't been there before. There were two more shelves full of artifacts and the general sense that whoever worked in that office was severely overworked. She looked around and Jimmy was nowhere to be found. So stood up and walked around the office. The screen saver was on and it still read the same Emc2. So _she_ worked there. It was disturbing. Booth and her team had always made sure she did not take on too much. That as much work as possible could be cascaded down to her grad students or to her assistants.

A girl walked in, someone she had ever seen before and deposited a pile more of files on her pending tray. Brennan walked to the girl to ask who'd sent the files but when she spoke, the girl did not acknowledge her. Instead, she just stood there admiring the artifacts, not quite daring to touch them. Brennan moved forward and called out yet again. The girl did not stir, undisturbed in her contemplation of the pieces. Hodgins walked in and called out to the girl.

"What are you doing? She's asking for you."  
"Already? I just dropped the files! And I hurried..."

"She just gets impatient. Don't take it personal."  
"Everybody is always saying that. But quite frankly, I do. I don't like the tone. I admire the intelligence, the brain, but I don't like the person. She's snappish and never acknowledges something well done. Just the mistakes. She's supposed to be teaching."

"Don't tell me you're giving up... I expected more from you..." There was a sheepish smile from Hodgins. Brennan knew that look. It was the one Booth used whenever she wanted something from her. Hodgins had been catching up, it seemed.

"Dr. Hodgins... Hodgins," she corrected at his raised eyebrow, "I want to learn, not just... bask in the proximity of celebrity. She's not a good teacher. In fact, even as a person, I'm sure she lacks something. She strikes me as someone so unhappy that has no other outlet but to take it out on everybody else. And it's not just me either. It's everybody. Why else would Angela have left?"

"It's really not like that..."

"Oh? How is it then? Why more than 14 interns in less than six months? You know it's exactly how it is. Even to you. I don't know why you put up with it. You could be working somewhere else where you are appreciated, where your boss does not bully you on a daily basis. Instead, you stick around... I don't get it"

"Dr Brennan and I go back a ways.. If I were to leave... she'd..."  
"Be completely alone? Yeah, she would. And you know what? It would be completely her fault. No one wants to work with someone like her. It's just not worth it... all the lab equipment, all the knowledge she accumulated, all the really cool requests no one else gets, like that Egyptian Mummy... man! There was a time I though I'd kill to work here... now, I just want to find a away to leave without screwing up my changes of getting another internship."

"I'm so sorry to hear that..."

"Yeah, well.. I'm sorry to say it too. And I'm sorry for her. She could have had it all. Now, she doesn't even have a life outside the lab..."

"It's hard to know what you lost..." Brennan wanted to ask what she'd lost. But no one acknowledged her presence. So she walked out, trying to find something she wasn't even sure what it was. She walked around the lab. She knew she wouldn't find Angela. From what the girl had said, Angela was one of the things she'd lost. The sense of shame she'd felt overhearing Booth talking to Sid overwhelmed her. How could she be failing all those she loved? Her cheeks burned as her throat tightened into a blind knot. _I want to go home, get this over with. I'm not this person, am I? I'm not callous and mean. Sometimes I expect too much, but I'm not mean... _She wondered through the empty lab. The usual buzzing of people in the lab had given way to the soft humming of fluorescent lights. _Where is everybody? _She walked into Limbo. She could always find some of her grad students there. But instead of students, she saw an older woman she instinctively recognized as herself. It was the same hunching over a pile of fragmented bones, the same hair tied in a pony tail, the same lab coat over the same slender frame. But there was something new she had never noticed about herself. Her shoulders were hunched down as if the weight of the whole world was on them. She walked around the examining table and looked at her own face, only slightly aged. She examined the person standing before her as she would a suspect or a victim on the autopsy table, with detachment and objectivity. There were radiating lines around the eyes that were not from smiling, vertical lines around the mouth that could only be attributed to the near permanent pursing of the lips and horizontal lines on the forehead signaling intense concentration for very long periods of time. When her older self got up to walk to a desk nearby, Brennan noticed how the shoulders did not regain levity, how her gait had lost spring, how she looked, globally, absolutely miserable. There was no warmth in that person. The warmth she had been able to expand since Booth had become her partner, the sweetness, the empathy that he managed to bring up in her because it had always been buried in her heart, seemed to have dried up, to be non existent. She wanted to feel sorry for that person she couldn't quite connect to, but was unable. That was the person the girl in her office had been talking about. Not her. Not the person she knew she was. That person would not have hurt Angela into leaving the lab, would not bully Hodgins into submission and though she may have done it sometimes unknowingly, would not ignore her students' needs for learning. If anything, she'd always been good at teaching- even if she wasn't the most personable teacher they' ever have. No, that could not be her. Booth would never let be like that without having a go at her, without calling her on it and, especially with Angela, he would have found a way of helping her, at least, apologize. _And where's Booth in all of this, by the way? He wouldn't let anyone talk about me like this._ He was her night in shining armor. He'd always been there for her. He never let her be sad around him.

"Dr Brennan?" Hodgins walked into Limbo, alone. No reply. The older Brennan was engrossed in the analysis of the bones. She didn't even look up. "Dr Brennan... Sally left." Again no reply though Brennan saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. Yes, she'd heard Hodgins. And was ignoring him. Hodgins walked around the examination table and stopped at Brennan's side. "Dr Brennan... Temperance..." He held her by the shoulders and tried to turn her to him, tried to get her to pay attention. "Sally left. She doesn't work here anymore. She's gone. And she's good. You know she is. She just needs some guidance, some patience... she..."

"I know what _left_ means, Dr Hodgins. Let her go. I'm here to teach, not to baby anyone. I'm not anyone's mother. And this is a a job, by the way, not a family." There was such harshness in the tone, such coldness. She pushed Hodgins and walked out of his reach.

"There was a time when _this_ was a family, remember? A very quirky, weird, maybe even slightly dysfunctional, a family nonetheless. We weren't alone, remember? There were people around us that cared... Remember when you were Bones and we were the squints, your brain trust?" Brennan was finding it painful to breath while Hodgins tried to reason with that woman. Where had things gone so horribly wrong? "Booth called, by the way..." No reaction. "Heard you did not take the call. His little boy was born yesterday, by the way. Both mother and baby are doing OK, just in case you want to know." Brennan felt her heart stop. The older Brennan did not seem to hear the news, but she felt it so acutely that her heart ached. Her hand clutched at her chest and she carved her nails in her skin. She had to concentrate on something else that was not that pain in her heart. She couldn't breath and wanted to scream. Booth had left her. He'd abandoned her. That had to be why she was so cold to everybody else. It had to be Booth's fault. He had promised that he'd never betray her, but what else was it but treason if he was having a baby with somebody else? She curled up at a corner. It was a nightmare and she needed to wake up.

"Hodgins, don't you see I'm busy? Just do what you're paid to do which does not include lecturing me."

"Temperance..."  
"Dr Hodgins, I think you said quite enough." Brennan saw Jack walk out of the office, sighing. She got up from her corner on the floor and walked out after him, leaving that unknown person behind. She wanted to apologize to him, for what that other Temperance had said. But when she walked out the door, she looked back. That other woman had straightened up in her seat and her eyes were lost somewhere that was not that room. She stood there, looking at a silent picture of devastation.

"You know, Temperance," Jimmy Steward had materialized behind her, "it's not that she doesn't feel..." Brennan begged him for an explanation with her eyes. He took her hand in his. "She was always too scared. At first, too scared of what she felt for Booth. Then, too afraid he might feel the same. And then, that he might change his mind... So when he told her how he felt, when he asked her to spend Christmas with him, she said she did not share the feeling, that she was too busy. Come, Temperance, walk with me..." Hand in hand, the Technicolor Temperance and the black and white Jimmy Stewart walked the empty corridors of the Jeffersonian.

"Why?"  
"You know that one, Temperance. You've been feeling it for a long time now."

"Fear..."

"Yes, fear."

"What happened?"  
"Well, Booth stuck around for some time. But that chemistry between the two of you dried up...you kept on pushing him away and never told him how you felt. He couldn't tell how scared you were because you did not let him get close. He felt lonely. You just refused to talk to him about anything but cases... so when he met Peyton... he felt someone was finally being a friend to him. You weren't really there for him, Temperance. That Christmas you were too busy running. Running from your past, running from what could be your future, from what you two felt that you forgot how to be a friend as well. Peyton did not replace you. She doesn't understand him and she doesn't _just know_ how great he really is like you do. To her, he is an enigma. But she does tell him she loves him..."  
"And now they have a baby..."

"They are a family, yes"

"We used to be a family here..."  
"So you did. But when he moved away, you pushed people away. Everybody. And it became very difficult to work with you. Impossible, for most people."

"She seems very lonely..."

"_She_ is."  
"You said we make our choices..."

"That's right. Now you're thinking with your heart! Each of our choices impacts on events. Even the tiniest little ones."  
"So this is only a possibility. It's not like this is already written..."  
"Of course not! This is just one in a million of possibilities. Why else do you think we went to all this trouble? You can't change the past. But you can _not_ let it influence what your future is. The future will be what you want it to be." He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her forward. "Close your eyes, Temperance"  
"Are we going home?"

"Shhh. Just close your eyes." She did. And for a second or two she felt like she was suspended in mid air, warmth spreading through her body, very much like falling asleep, except she was not in her bed and as far as could remember, she was standing, walking down the Jeffersonian's corridors. But she felt warm and cozy, relaxed and just perfect. Like she was in the best place in the whole world. Wherever it was, she did not want to open her eyes. She did not want to feel miserable again. She was surrounded by warmth and comfort. And then she heard the soft breathing, and the arms around her felt solid and her body recognized another body enveloping hers, her nose recognized the scent. She tentatively blinked her eyes open to see her hands around his and closed them again. Her face felt the soft pillow against her skin on her left side and Booth's breath on her right cheek. She took stock of her body. She was in a soft bed, laying on her side, Booth hugging her, sleeping softly. It was the best place to be. If this was one of the possibilities Jimmy had told her about, she would take this one. She would stay there forever. She relaxed against his body and absorbed his body heat, felt it push away at the heart ache and cold of the night. Her eyes closed softly and she felt her body relax into sleep. Booth's hand slid form under hers and ran down her, down her breasts, lingered there for a few seconds, making her smile. It felt really good to sleep in his arms. His hand continued down to her belly. Except her belly felt different. His hand stopped there, open wide, cupping it. And then she felt something moving inside her. It was more of a flutter, really. Could have gone unnoticed, except Booth's hand rubbed her belly and the movement recurred. Like it was responding to his touch. Booth scooted closer to her, his arm under her neck bringing her closer to him. The movement inside her continued. She did not dare investigate what it was, though she had her own suspicions. She stayed very still, concentrating on her belly, on the movement inside it. There it was again. It felt funny. Her hip hurt slightly, so she adjusted her body and the movement stopped. She went back to being still. And the heat dispensed by Booth's hand on her belly felt like it was spreading through all of her. She opened her eyes and looked around the room. There was a pale light seeping in through the closed curtains that indicated morning. She tried to look down to her feet, but it was too dark to see anything. So she took a deep breath and slid her hand down her body. Her breasts first, that felt bigger and then her belly. She gasped. She was big. She was very big. Her hand roamed around her very round belly and the movement restarted. It felt stronger against her hand.

"Are you OK?" Booth's sleepy voice in her ear interrupted her exploration.

"It moved" It was said somewhere between amazement and shock. Booth smiled.

"I felt her."

"Her?"

"I still say it's a girl" And his hand roamed the roundness of her belly, eliciting further movement from inside. Her heart was pounding in her chest. This was not exactly something she'd always wanted to know how it would feel. In fact, she felt terrified. And excited. And confused. "It's still early. Go back to sleep" And he snuggled in her neck, breathing deeply. She felt herself relax against him. That was the part she'd imagined how it would feel and had always been too afraid to even open to the possibility. It was something she'd kept locked in her own head, without letting it reach her heart. But she'd caught herself often enough, lying beside almost perfect strangers, or alone in her bed, hugging a pillow, and her mind drifting to being in Booth's arms. She would swat the thought away, the longing for that warmth, put it down to exhaustion or to the fact they spent about 80% for their waking time together. She would scold herself repeatedly for mixing together things that were unrelated, like a work partner and silly feelings of loneliness. And then, when she'd felt him go cold in her arms after the shooting, the thought materialized in her mind that she was not ready to live without him around her. It had been something of the mind first. Her brain had always been faster than her heart. But then it had seeped into her heart, and she'd felt it break. She did not dare accept the word _love_ in the beginning. To her mind, Temperance Brennan did not feel that. She had never known how to. The penny had dropped when her fist connected with his chin. She did not need Sweets to tell her it had been a very passionate reaction. By that time, she knew it. She did not need a 12 year old to tell her. She had just needed the time to adjust to the panic, to come up with a plan of action. And what a stupid plan of action it had turned out to be. Pushing away at him each time he tried to come closer. Only to end up with that stupid fight in the lab, making him feel like he couldn't trust her. Shame burned in her cheeks all over again and her throat closed. Her hand closed around her belly and she felt movement again. It gave an exhilarating feeling of completeness, something so opposed to the loneliness she'd always felt was her lot in life it was difficult to put into words. Even by a New York Times best selling author. She was being given a second chance. Not exactly how she'd have chosen a second chance to be, but she'd take it. She'd take this warmth over the cold, mean and lonely Temperance at the lab any time.

"She's restless." He nosed her neck.

"She's keeping me company"

"Oh, is that what she'd doing?"

"Huh huh."  
"Are you ready for breakfast?"

"Yeah... I'm starving"

"You're always starving these days..."

"Am I?"

"Cornflakes?"

"With maple syrup, please..."

"Oh, yes, how could I forget the syrup?" But he was smiling. He got up and she made to follow him. "It's cold. Stay there." He pointed at the bed, walking out. She sat on the bed and looked down at herself. There was no doubt about it. She was very pregnant. She got up and walked around the room, not entirely sure of what she was looking for until she found it in the bathroom, a body length mirror. She covered her eyes, a childish embarrassment at what she'd see. She stood before the mirror and slowly uncovered her eyes. There it was, the same face she saw everyday in the mirror, make up free, the tousled bed hair. But there was a glow about her, in her eyes, in her skin. Was that what happiness looked like on her? Her eyes got caught in the rounded shape of her body. She turned sideways and observed the improbable balance of her body, the cocoon it provided for what had moved inside her. _Her_, Booth had said. The cocoon it provided for_ her_. Really? Temperance Brennan a _mommy_? Unable to stop herself, she slid the pyjama top up revealing her belly. Six, maybe seven months gestation. _Wow_! Her hand roamed up and down, the baby inside her responding to the caress. Overwhelmed, she walked back to the room and sat on the armchair by the window. There were tears in her eyes. Jimmy Stewart materialized by her side and took her hand in his.

"Why did you show me this one like this? I mean... I was just a spectator back at the lab but here... Look at me! I'm _in_ it." He smiled at her and patted her hand.

"Call me a romantic fool" There was humor in his eyes. "We thought you needed more than seeing it. Somethings you don't take at face value, Temperance, you're one of those souls that needs to experience it to believe it.

"Well, I choose this one. I want to stay here" And her hands cupped her belly, protectively. "I'm sold, I'll take this one. You can go now. You've persuaded me." She could feel despair growing. She did not want to move from there.

"If only it were that easy, Temperance. This is a possibility, it's not real."

"Yes it is, can't you see?"  
"Temperance..." There was patience in the tone. "Remember when I told you you'd deserved tonight?" She nodded in agreement. " Well, it means that you deserved to see your life from a different perspective, what has been, what is, and what can be. This is what can be. We make our choices. If you want this, you need to choose it, actively. Not just accept it as a given. You need to fight for it. To deserve it. Right now, you don't really... _qualify_... let's say it like that."  
"I owe Booth an apology..."

"Among other things... You always chose your path, you've made yourself from whatever you were given, carefully. Now it's time to decide if you want to be careful, play it safe and keep on choosing by yourself, or if you want to risk all that carefully built life and put it in someone else's hands, change it for something that might not work out, that is a potential disaster but that can..."

"Feel this warm..." She completed. Jimmy Stewart nodded in agreement. He held his hand to her.

"Five more minutes, please..." But she took his hand when he didn't reply. She closed her eyes and the tears she'd been holding on to for so long fell, copious, generous, through her closed eyelids. Jimmy's hand felt solid in hers, but the warmth was fading.

She opened her eyes to her living room, the light of the TV illuminating her surroundings. Her hand moved instinctively to her belly but there was nothing there. She felt the loss acutely and more tears fell while she curled up in the sofa rocking rhythmically, trying to comfort herself. Jimmy touched her hair, in a soothing gesture.

"Temperance, look at me..." She obeyed. "Remember what I told you? We make our own choices?" She sniffed a yes. "Well, then why are you sitting here with me and crying your eyes out for?"

And with that, he stood up and walked out of her living room waving goodbye.


	5. All I want for Christmas is you

**Author's note: All right, here it is, the last chapter. Thank you all of you that read and commented and added to the favorites and all that jazz. Really! Thank you for making the writing of this particular piece such fun. **

**Happy holidays- Remember that we can still look forward to the New Year.**

**Jane**

5- All I want for Christmas is you.

_December 24th, 7am_

Temperance Brennan sat in shock. She was dizzy, her head was spinning madly. Her body still remembered what it felt like to have life inside. The ache of that loss was intense, though she had never actively wanted to have children of her own. She had decided very early in her life that she would not be defined by what her feminine body could do. And now, here she was, grieving the loss of a child she'd been pregnant with for 30 minutes. Here she was, missing what she had with Booth for those same 30 minutes, when she had, for 4 years, denied herself all that could be, kept him at arms length. She felt stupid. She felt unbelievably stupid to have needed an arrogant Missy Piggy, a smug Smurf, an alcoholic Rabbit and a black and white Jimmy Stewart to tell her how much she'd messed up her own life. How much she'd miss out if she insisted on the _safe_ way. On keeping her heart safe. _We make our own choices_. Well, then, the choice had been made. The moment she sat in that armchair and was told to leave. She had filled her days with work, she had lived a surrogate relationship just because it did not present the dangers the real one would face her with. She had pretended to herself none of what was in that room was what she really wanted. That she had all she needed. And she'd been able to fool herself for most of the time too, which just showed that she was not that brilliant after all. All that she wanted was right there, right in that room she didn't even know how to find.

She stood up and walked to her bathroom, to wash the tears and the dregs of the night away. She was truly exhausted, but it was 7am on Christmas Eve and there was a lot to do. She would have to find Booth and sort that fine mess she was in. And fill the fridge. And cook them a nice supper. And call Egypt and tell them the ID of the mummy would have to be postponed for indefinite time. She resisted the urge to call Booth and ask him to come though she was sure he would. But she owed him that much that she'd do the groveling.

But first things first. She jumped into the shower, ran it at scalding and scrubbed vigorously, returning heat to her body, making her blood run faster through her veins. She shampooed and conditioned her hair, and took only slightly longer than the strictly necessary to perform all the actions. She was a busy woman. She toweled off and selected casual, warm clothes from the closet that the Smurff had frowned upon. She made coffee she so desperately needed if she was to stay awake to fix her life, drank it in a hot greedy go and grabbed her keys jogging towards her car. The air was icy and crisp, a morning so clear the sun reflected off the smallest particles suspended in the air and gave everything a new light. She drove to the farmers' market and stocked up almost indiscriminately. She wanted to see the fridge full, colorful, odorous. No more stark, depressing white. No more lonely rice crackers in there.

Then she stopped by the Jeffersonian and, having located all of the grad students and assistants scheduled to assist with the analysis of Ramses II's first daughter's mummy, told them they were excused for the holidays, to not show up at least, until after the weekend. And, on an afterthought, wished them a merry Christmas. It felt strange to say it. Those were not words that rolled out of her tongue with ease. She usually concentrated on ignoring all sorts of signs that it was Christmas.... the cheery music playing in every shop, the decorations hanging in the streets, the weird Santas collecting funds for this and that, the smiley faces anticipating the holidays and the presents, the general whiff of Christmas. Today, she wasn't exactly sure of how not sound like a recent convert, but wanted to be a part of it, nonetheless.

Her next step was calling Rebecca. It was a tense conversation she did her best to disarm. But after 10 minutes she had the result she wanted and, after scribbling on a small piece of paper, made her way to Angela's office. She passed Hodgins and, without giving it much thought, pulled him into a hug. It surprised Hodgins to the point of having him paralyzed. Temperance pulled away and looking at him in the eye told him:  
"We are a family here, Jack. We really are..." Hodgins' blue eyes were open wide in amazement.

"Yeah... I guess..." He stuttered.

"Merry Christmas, Jack"

"Merry Christmas, Temperance" _Wow, that was weird. Wonder what Angela will make of that! _Jack was stunned into silence when Brennan walked back and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for being a friend" And she walked away, leaving behind her a Jack trying to understand what had come over her.

When Brennan walked into Angela's office, her artist friend was sitting in her sofa, staring into space, a sad look in her face. Brennan's heart jolted. Had it happened already? Had she put her foot in it already? _Oh God! _How was she going to fix this one? She was not the sensitive type, the type that always knows the right thing to say, how to make people feel better. In fact, her trade mark was bluntness, not exactly what sad people needed.

"Angela!" She called out trying to announce her presence, just in case Angela did not want to talk to her. "Angela!" But there was no reply. She walked in, knelt by the sofa and touched Angela carefully in the arm. "Something wrong? Why are you sad? Is it something that I said?" Angela scooted over giving Brennan space to sit by her side.

"No, Sweetie... I just... Roxie and I... we're not really OK... And I don't really know to fix this. I just want to do what I usually do... you know, pick up my gear and walk away... I don't like complicated stuff. It's just... you know, been there, done that with Roxie..."  
"And you don't like repeating your exits..." Angela hugged her smiling.

"Yeah, you know me... I like creativity."

"I don't think you should give up this easy, Angela... there's a lot to be said for perseverance..."

"I thought I was your favorite flake"

"You're my favorite everything, Angela. But leaving is not what you want to do, otherwise you'd have done by now..."

"Perseverance, you said..."  
"Yeah..."

"Well, this is unexpected... from you, I mean, the romantic advice"

"Angela... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..."  
"Relax, Brenn. I love you too. In a completely non lesbian way!" They both smiled. A smile, Angela knew, was a good way to scare away sadness. "I don't like feeling like this on Christmas... It's just the worst time of the year for a break up, don't you think?" Brennan shrugged. No, she didn't know that. She knew it was a bad time for many other things, but she did not indulge in that particular thought. Instead, she took Angela's hand.

"I went shopping. I've got my car full of groceries. Don't spend Christmas alone. Come to my place if you want to... if things with Roxie do not get fixed..."  
"Brennan..."  
"Promise, Angela! Promise you'll come to me if things don't work out."  
"Are you going to be alone?"  
"I hope not..." There was a hint of a smile in Brennan's eyes. For once, Angela did not press. But she knew it was serious, that Brennan had made up her mind about something.

"Well, Sweetie, thank you for asking. And I promise, if things don't work out, I'll pop by, OK?"  
"OK" She kissed Angela on the forehead and stood up to walk to the door.

"Thank you for being a friend... And good luck!"  
"With what?"

"You know, that decision of yours..." Brennan debated on whether to tell Angela or not. She decided against. Mostly because she trusted Angela to know what the decision had been... mainly because she wanted it to be something of hers for the time being.

*****************

So when she walked out of the Jeffersonian, there was only one more thing to do to make it Christmas: Apologize to Booth. Naturally, she called him first. Only there was no answer. It did ring and it did go to voice mail. What it did not do was was connect her to him. So she tried his direct line at the bureau. And again it ran, then transferred her to his cell and then to his voice mail. And, again, no answer. She checked her watch. 10H30 am. Maybe he was on his way to the Jeffersonian. She called the security desk and asked if he'd come in. _No._ She asked if they'd let her know if and when. They promised. They wished her Merry Christmas. She wished them Merry Christmas back. She called his cell again. And again, it rang, then transferred her to the voice mail. And still no answer. She thought back to what she'd seen the night before, him drinking like salvation resided at the end of the bottle of vodka. She called his home phone. And it rang and transfered her again to voice mail.

_Where are you Booth?_

She hung up. He could have drunk himself to oblivion. It was a remote possibility, but a possibility nonetheless. So she drove to his house and let herself in. He still had not changed that stupid spare key from under the stupid rock by the door. Which was stupid. Anyone could come in. Anyone could hurt him. She walked through the empty apartment, walked into every room, checked in the bathroom, in the kitchen, even in the garage. Her heart started to ache in impossible increments with each passing minute, with each thwarted attempt at ringing him.

She sat in her car trying to get her breathing under control. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating. She tried the Hoover building and the Jeffersonian again and then his house. When she got no answer, she drove to Wong Foo's. She walked in bringing the cold in with her. Sid did not seem surprised to see her. When she approached the counter but did not seat, Sid spoke while walking to her:  
"He's not here." There was panic in her eyes, now, Sid could see it. "But he was here last night." It did not surprise her as much as she'd expected it to. "He drank quite a lot, so I took his car keys. Put him on a taxi to take him home"

"He's not there..." Sid handed her a cup of steaming tea. She looked at it, unable to remember what to do it.

"He's not inside that cup either. Drink it!" She took a sip of the steaming liquid. "He couldn't have gone far without the car. See? It's still outside." Grateful, she walked out. She opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. She made a mad dash to the Hoover building. It was semi empty, none of the usual comings and goings. It appeared Christmas had come even for dedicated public servants. She sped through the corridors and took the elevator to his office, but when she got there, Charlie told her from his desk that he had not come in that morning and hadn't even called. She left a post it note stuck to his desk. _Call me when you see this. _She called Caroline, who was more than surprised to hear from her as she was in New Orleans for a family Christmas and then Cam, who was on holiday and thought Brennan knew about it as she'd left almost a week ago_. _Once more she walked to her car, despair growing. She had no idea where to find him. And she was absolutely sure that if the situation was reversed, he would find her in no time. And then it occurred to her, that maybe he had found more congenial company than herself. That it was too late. She thought back to the dream. Who the hell was Peyton and where had she come from? Jimmy had said that when she did not accept the invitation for Christmas, Peyton had showed up, been a friend. She opened the car and walked in. And was hit by a waft of flowery perfume.

"You know, this is a bad time to start thinking with your heart instead of your head!"

"You know, I really don't have the time to entertain visitors right now..." Miss Piggy did not take offense. Which was odd, but nice.

"This is, in fact, an _excellent_ time to use your head... You know where he was last night. And you know he is not fickle. He wouldn't go running after the first woman that gave him the time of day... would he?" Brennan sighed.

"No..." Miss Piggy gave her a _there you go_ look.

"So, where do you think he could have gone?"

"I don't know. I've looked everywhere. He's not at the Hoover or the Jeffersonian, at home or at Sid's, He's not driving... and he's not picking up the phone. Oh God, he's not picking up the phone!"

"Well, aren't you the drama queen! Maybe there's a good reason why he's not picking up the phone..."  
"Like what?"  
"Like he left it in his car?" Brennan wanted to rebate the logic. But found nothing wrong with it. Miss Piggy gave her a smug look when she did not reply. "Now, where is the only place you haven't looked in?"

"The whole city..."

"Ah, irony! That is _sooooooo_ not nice. I'm this close" and she showed her chubby fingers nearly touching each other "to stop helping you. And believe you me, you need all the help you can get."

"Sorry... it's just that..."  
"I know... If my Kirmy went missing, I'd go _nuuuuuuuuts_! But think, he _didn't _evaporate. He is somewhere! Where is the only place that you haven't looked yet?" And then it hit her.

"I know where he is. I know where... Miss Piggy, thank you for your help."  
"Say no more, I know when my job is done." Brennan started the car. "Just promise me when your first daughter is born you'll name her after me!" Brennan looked at the pig in shock, but she had just snapped her fingers with a smile and disappeared with a whoosh.

Brennan drove possessed by impatience, drumming her fingers in the steering wheel with every red light she came across but faced the crowds of last minute shoppers with stoicism and the heavy traffic of people leaving the city with caution. She just needed to get there in one piece.

She parked in her residents' bay and turned the key in the ignition. She sighed in relief. There he was, sitting on the front steps of her building, curled up in his heavy winter coat. She could have cried in relief. And, in fact, she wasn't even sure she didn't.

She opened the door and walked to him, sat by his side.

"I'm sorry, Booth." He put his arm around her, pulling her to him. It was cold. In fact, it was beyond cold. It was freezing. But right there and then, that was where she wanted to be. That was the best place in the whole wide world. It would have been easy to just curl up into his embrace and enjoy it, but she owed him. "Booth!"

"Yes, Bones?"  
"I'm sorry."

"It's OK, Bones."

"Booth... it's not OK. Look at me... I'm sorry for not being a friend to you. You were right about that."

"Bones, really, it's OK"

"No, it's not. I really need to tell you something... You're best person I've ever met... and my best friend. You are amazing... in everything that you do. In what we do. You don't flinch. And you've been there for me for more than three years now. And when you needed me, the only time you asked me for something for yourself, I... I refused it..."

"Bones, really, you don't have to..."

"Yes, I do... Booth, I had a really... _really_ difficult night. But I realized that... oh God... well, I realized that I like myself better when you're with me. I'm a better person. I never told you that, did I? No... Booth, please do me a favor... stay with me for Christmas... I've got the car full of stuff I don't even need and... I need help taking it all up to my apartment... and we could cook and... "  
"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why? Why did you tell me no before?" He held her chin with his index finger forcing her to look him straight in the eye. If ever there was a moment to be brave, Brennan thought, that was now. This was what she owed him more than an apology: the truth. "Because I was terrified. I've..." She took a deep breath. Her lungs were hurting and it was not from the bitter cold. "I'm... that is... I think I'm in love with you... and I... it's not something that I had planned and I just couldn't deal with it..."

"Why?"

"I thought I'd just get hurt if I did... that I'd be in your hands... exposed..."  
"You didn't trust me to take care of your heart." It wasn't really a question. It was more of a statement. She gestured _no_ with her head, the tears stinging her eyes. "Bones... Temperance..." He took a deep breath and exhaled a cloud into the frosty air. "I've been less then forthcoming with you... I understand because I didn't trust you with my heart either. There are things about me that you don't know, things that I'm too embarrassed to tell anyone, like what my dad used to make of Christmas, or that there were Christmases when I didn't even know it was Christmas because I was too drunk or because I'd let myself get caught by insurgents or war criminals. Or that I killed on Christmas Day. I didn't tell you these things because I thought I knew you'd think less of me..."  
"But I don't..."

"Or the fact that I've been in love with you for the last three years. And known about it for at least two of those... but I'll make you a deal. If I take care of your heart, will you do the same for me?"

Her nose was red and wet, she did not have any make up on and her un gloved hands were turning purple. There were tears streaming down her cheeks and there were dark circles under her eyes, but she was still the prettiest thing he'd ever seen in his whole damned life. She nodded yes. And that was what it took to make it all better, to make sense of all his life so far. So, carefully, slowly, his face got closer to hers, until she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. She usually kissed with her eyes closed. Just like he faced explosions with his eyes closed. But this time, they both approached the kiss with their eyes open, staring into each other in a mix of anticipation and pleasure delaying. And when their lips connected, it was not the jolt of electricity they both expected. It was like fitting in the last piece of the puzzle, an _ahhh_ of absolute pleasure, of recognizance and pleasure. It was like feeling whole for the first time ever. Her hands held on to his coat and his hands held on to her hair. Her mouth was silk and heat and promise. It moved over his, a slow glide that invited him in, to sample or to taste fully. The flavors of her wound through him, just like they had last Christmas, under Caroline's mistletoe, strong and sweet, still unexpected, beckoning him like a guiding light. _Come on, have a little more._ And the only thing he could hear were the slight suction noises their mouths pressed together were creating, in that attempt to obliterate all the time and space they'd spent apart, denying that kiss. It was cold outside their skin, but inside it was a furnace, a fire so intense it melted two hearts into one. When she started to ease away, he gripped her hips and had some more.

It shouldn't have surprised her, but it still did, that she did not regret a single second of that kiss. How could she regret being kissed on a frosty morning by a man who knew exactly how she wanted to be kissed, a slow burn of a kiss, sweet and spicy, deep and hard all in the same touch?

They wouldn't know how long the kiss lasted. They only knew that, somewhere during that time it had started to snow, big fat flakes dancing slowly to the floor, like happy confetti, lining the streets and covering their hair and clothes. Kisses aren't eternal because there is a life to live after them. So Booth got up and pulled her to him in a hug.

"Come on, I'm starving"

"I bought cornflakes"

"Cornflakes?"  
"With maple syrup. I had a craving for them tonight..."

***********

A few yards away, a group observed them. It was a strange group- both as individuals and as a group. There was a man tall as a lamp post- or as near to a lamp post as metaphors can go, a Muppett, an almost man sized white rabbit standing upright looking straight out of a children's book illustration, a blue dwarf like cartoon girl and a man in black and white from a 40s film.

"You know, boss, this one was actually not that complicated. From your briefing, I had expected her to resist more."

"You did a good job, Jimmy. Except for the entry. You're still messing that one up a tad."

"Ah, come on boss, Jimmy is still relatively new at this, you know?" Miss Piggy pipped in.

"Ah, come on, and what was that about them naming their first baby after you?" Smurffette was thumping her foot on the snow covered floor. "Next time I'm gonna be last. It's not fair, this is the second couple she asks to name a child after her. What if she succeeds, I ask you? What then?"  
"Relax, Smurffette, no one is that silly, are they Boss?" Sid made a non committal gesture that was good enough for the group. "Speaking of which, I'm running late again" The Rabbit complained. "Are we dismissed, Boss?"

"Yeah, go one home, now. It's Christmas Eve."

"Boss?"  
"Yes, Smurffette?"

"I like that brain trust thing. Can we be your brain trust, Boss?" Miss Piggy snorted in a very unladylike manner.

"Ah, you have to grow one first!"

"Boss!"

"Come on you lot, just go on home" One by one, the group disbanded, each in their own direction, unseen by the occasional passer by. Sid remained where he was for a few more minutes watching the couple loading on the bags with what would be their first Christmas dinner together and kissing as if they could not stand to be apart for longer than a quick breath. He was a sucker for beginnings. And this was the best time of the year. Now, Sid told his buttons, he needed a new project.

The end


End file.
